CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
LONGINGS FOR LIBERTY.
It was easier to ask that question than to answer it, and they cast a brief glance round the bare, cupboard-like place, with its two shelves, which represented the prisoners' beds, each bearing a small horsehair mattress and a French cotton blanket.
"Put out the light," was all the answer Vince received; and, after holding it to the side of the place for a moment or two, he opened the lanthorn door and blew the candle out.
"No good to keep that in.

Only makes the place hot and stuffy.

I'm going to open that light." The "light" was a sort of wooden shutter, which took the place of an ordinary cabin window, and as soon as he had drawn it wide open the soft night air entered in a delicious puff.
"Hah! that's better," sighed Vince.

"Come here and breathe, Ladle, old chap.

It's of no use to smother ourselves if we are miserable.